Earth Speak: Envisioning a Conversant World

I was looking forward to presenting this at the Association for Women and Mythology Conference in New Mexico, but unfortunately I have had to cancel because of illness.  But I just felt like posting it again anyway................brings back the revelations of that wonderful trip!

Earth Speak Power Point presentation from Lauren Raine

Earth Speak 2019 presentation from Lauren Raine

Earth-speak:

Envisioning a Conversant World

By Lauren Raine MFA

""Speak to the Earth and it shall teach thee"

Job 12:8

In 2018 I attended a conference on sacred sites and dowsing at Pewsey, in Southern England, called the Gate Keepers Conference (1), an annual conference of dowsers, mythologists, and Earth mysteries researchers who have been investigating sacred sites throughout the United Kingdom, as well as intentional pilgrimage to them, for many years.  I also undertook my visit as a personal pilgrimage, visiting in the course of my time in the U.K. Avebury, Silbury Hill, Glastonbury, Arbor Low, and other sites.

 My introduction to this adventure took some fortitude.   After a 15-hour flight from Los Angeles, I waited in line 2 hours in Customs, then made my way to Paddington Station in London, then to Swindon by train, and finally to Avebury by bus.  By the time I stepped off the bus, I was, perhaps, in an altered state of consciousness from utter exhaustion.  I stepped from the bus to see, perfectly aligned with my sight, rising from the morning’s mist, the great prehistoric monument of Silbury Hill, the mysterious Omphalos of an ancient world. 

When I saw Silbury through the mist, what opened before me was a vision of a time when the entire landscape was the sacred body of the deity, a cyclical mythos of an animated Earth that ensouled and enlivened and enstoried every hill, spring, river and forest within a cosmology of conversant belonging.  I will never forget that moment of revelation.

Situated just south of Avebury, Silbury Hill is Europe's tallest prehistoric structure.   Michael Dames, in his book THE SILBURY TREASURE (2) demonstrates persuasively that Silbury, like other "Neolithic Harvest Hills" associated with nearby henges and standing stones, literally represented the pregnant belly of the Great Mother, and was associated with a certain time of the agricultural year, in particular, the harvest of July/August. 

Silbury Hill is part of the great Avebury ceremonial complex, and has been excavated over the centuries, never once finding the “great chieftain’s treasure” which, Dames points out, it was assumed “must” be there.  We now know, at last, that its interior does not hold gold or the bones of a mythic hero king and his unfortunate slaves.  Rather, it simply holds grains, turf, and animal bones, with no evidence of human burial at its core.  Silbury is also surrounded by a henge or moat, once considerably deeper than it now is, and which would have been full of water, at least at certain times of the year.Dames points out that this henge actually forms the shape of a squatting or birthing woman in profile.     He likens the "Goddess form" of the henge to similar ubiquitous Goddess sculptures and sites associated with Cornwall, Ireland, Scotland, the Orkney Islands, the Hebrides, the Isle of Man, Brittany.........as far as the mysterious Temples of Malta, or the barely excavated stone circles of Gobekli Tepe in Turkey.

Why has this interpretation of Silbury never been seen before?  Because, Dames points out, to do so one must make a kind of paradigm shift into an alternate view of his-story.  “Silbury “Michael Dames writes,

“Conveys a philosophy which is of exceptional relevance to the modern world.  Silbury has been reduced to an enigma because of the attempt to impress upon it concepts such as kingship, personal property, and individual male glory. Who put “King Sil” into Silbury?  We did, because we wanted him there - a superman chieftain with a super treasure and hundreds of slaves, so vain, so aggressive, so acquisitive, so preoccupied with eternal fame, that he could provide us with a monumental tomb and treasure.  All treasure finding attempts have failed because the builders belonged to a society for which such concepts had little importance, or even meaning.  And yet, since their compelling priorities are not entirely absent from our values, we can appreciate something of what the original Silsbury treasure was, especially since the future of our own civilization may give us urgency and humility to tender our investigation.” (3)

 

When I walked the Avebury complex, I experienced the intensification of life force vitality I have come to recognize in places of numinosity and telluric force.  There is no doubt in my mind (or body mind) that these sites marked places of intrinsic geomantic power, and that the placement of stones also served to intensify or channel the animating Earth energies present.   Sacred landscapes also augment their healing or consciousness elevating properties through the interaction of generations of people with the "spirit of the land” through what researchers such as Paul Deveraux (4) have termed "geomantic reciprocity".

 Geomantic reciprocity occurs as human beings bring intentionality and focus to a particular place, making it a holy or sacred place.  This  communion with place becomes more active as place itself accrues story or mythic power  in the memory of the people, and in the memory of the land.   Sacred places have both an innate and a developed capacity to bring about altered states of consciousness, especially if people come prepared within the open, liminal state of pilgrimage or ceremony.  And myth   is the language spoken to engage the numinous presence.

I also went to Glastonbury in Somerset as part of my journey to visit the famous Chalice Well.  Glastonbury is Avalon - the source of the Arthurian legends, the land of Merlin, Arthur and the Lady of the Lake.  Once the hill now called the Tor was surrounded by a lake.  During the Middle Ages Glastonbury was the home of the great Gothic Cathedral of Glastonbury and its community of monks, a place of universal pilgrimage.  The Cathedral was destroyed by Henry the VIII, and the Abbot executed, after the Abbot refused to leave the Catholic church.

Dowsers Caroline Hoare and Gary Biltcliffe (5) write of the “crossing of the Michael and Mary lines” at the Tor, a prominent point of interest to those investigating Earth energies.  The Tor also features a tower, once part of the destroyed Abbey, visible from miles away, that stands atop the famous hill.  They also speak of the more mutable “Dragon lines” of serpentine force that weave throughout this highly energized area.  Underground springs originate in the area of the Tor, springs that have been renowned for their healing powers since long before the advent of Christianity.   Now called the "Red Spring" and the "White Spring”, where these springs emerge, at an underground chamber and at the Chalice Well Garden, are still revered by pilgrims who come to them from around the world.   The red color found at the Chalice Well is from iron oxide deposited by the spring.  The White Spring deposits calcium, leaving a white residue.

 The Avalonian springs are famous as part of the ancient mythic landscape of Avalon…………. but in truth, there are hundreds if not thousands of once revered historical and prehistoric wells and springs throughout the UK, many of them still named for St. Brigit, the ancient Goddess of the Isles of Britannia.  The Chalice Garden, for me, is infused with presence, with the Goddess local  devotees call the Lady of Avalon. She is the Genus Loci of Avalon, what the Romans called Numina. (6)

The garden of the Chalice Well looked different, as the last time I had visited had been high summer.  It was deserted, and I was able to sit before the Well in meditation alone.   I took water from the springs to bring home, and then walked around.  What popped into my mind,  as if I heard it spoken, was odd - the words "Covenant Garden". When one is on a Pilgrimage, it is important to pay attention to whatever occurs, internally or externally.   As I walked among winters sleeping apple trees and bright red holly berries, I wondered:  what could "covenant garden" mean, and why had I thought of it? 

I remembered the name of the English Goddess Coventina.  According to Wikipedia,

Coventina was a Romano-British goddess of wells and springs. She is known from multiple inscriptions found at a site in Northumberland County, an area surrounding a wellspring near Carrawburgh on Hadrian’s Wall. (7)

A Triple Goddess of wells and springs was certainly appropriate for the Chalice Springs  of Glastonbury.  Interestingly,  the word Covenant, like "coven", "convening",  etc.  refers to a gathering of people to reach a harmonious agreement, which can include an agreement that is holy in some way.   

Such musings then led me to imagine  the famous  "Ark of the Covenant", which was said to hold writings and objects of Biblical veneration, as well as containing  "God's sustenance for man" which was called Manna.   Manna was the food, variously described as different substances or grains, which was provided by God to feed the people.  "Manna" has also come to mean a kind of inherent numinous power that may be found in a place or an object.

 The Ark of the Covenant, described in the Book of Exodus, was a gold-covered wooden chest containing the stone tablets of the Ten Commandments.  It also was supposed to contain “a golden jar holding manna, and Aaron's rod, which budded". (8)

Interesting:  holy food and a budding rod or tree.  The Garden is indeed a "harmonious agreement" between earthly beings of all kinds.  And "Manna" is the food provided by the Garden, which I view as the sustaining power of nature.  Aaron’s  "rod that blooms “could also be seen, from the viewpoint of a feminist mythologist like myself,  as a symbol originally belonging to the ancient Hebrew and Middle Eastern  Goddess Asherah, who was often  represented as a tree.  In the days of the Old Testament, She was an important deity, and was represented as a rod, or "Asherah pole”. (9)  The practice of carrying "Asherah poles" was apparently fairly common in the early days of the Semite tribes, although the Patriarchs later eliminated this custom, along with the Goddess, as the Hebrew deity became exclusively male. 

I reflected that a Garden represents a "Covenant” between human, animal, plant, soil, air, rain, water.......A successful garden is a harmonious Ecosystem in balance with all of its components.  A garden thrives through a network of inter-dependant relationships.  Trees communicate with each other through a vast underground weaving of roots and fungi.  The bees and other pollinators bring new life; the worms, microorganisms and other insects assist in the decay process.  And the birds assist in distributing seed as well.  Not to mention humans that may plant, sow, admire, and occasionally eat the stray apple or strawberry as well. 

 It could be said that a Garden is a "Covenant" achieved by many beings to reach a divine agreement.  THE GARDEN OF THE COVENANT.

As I was leaving the Chalice Garden, I saw a tiny metallic heart on the ground.  I was going to take it, but then it occurred to me that perhaps someone left it as a token or as an offering, and it wasn't right for me to take it.  I put it back on the ground and took a picture.  I was amazed to see that the camera showed light surrounding the little shape in the photo!  So I took two more, and they came out the same.   A Green Heart ……… 

Perhaps the Earth is Speaking to us all the time, we’ve just forgotten how to listen.  I believe there are ways to renew that conversation, to attune we once again to the voice of place, and hence, to see Place once again as sacred.  How might we live, how might we act, if we saw the world with such a vision, as both Covenant and Conversation?

"To the native Irish, the literal representation of the country was less important than its poetic dimension.  In traditional bardic culture, every place had its legend and its own identity.... what endured was an ongoing conversation with the mythic landscape."

R. F. Foster (10)

In so many areas of the UK the 21st Century can seem like just another layer atop a pentimento of a much older landscape, one that proceeds our short view of history.   Of course, this is true everywhere, but it seems so much in evidence there.  That "pentimento" visible just below the surface is circular, serpentine, and full of standing stones, henges, magic wells, and ley lines.   What, as theologians and "geologians" for the future, might we recover, re-learn and re-invent from it?

With the evolution of monotheism and patriarchal religions that increasingly removed divinity from both nature and the body, and in the past century the rapid rise of industrialization, we have increasingly looked at the world from a "users" point of view.   Places with their unique qualities and beauties become "resources" instead of living lands.  Renunciate religions have also served to de-sacralize earthly experience, further complicating our crisis.   Yet every early culture has insisted that nature is full of intelligence and intelligences that inform, bless, heal, and communicate, often through the multi-dimensional language of myth and altered states of consciousness.   

Contemporary Gaia Theory, developed by James Lovelock and Lynn Margulis (10), proposes that the Earth is a living, self-regulating organism, responsive and evolving.  If one is sympathetic to Gaia Theory, and the innate interactive intelligence of ecosystems, it follows that everything living is responsive and conversant in some way, in ways both visible and invisible.  I believe we need to learn to "speak with the Earth" again, not in some abstract way, but intimately, beneath our well-rooted feet, in our creative hands entwined and webbed among a great planetary collaboration. The "Covenant" of the Garden.  

How do we regain our niche in that great “Covenant”?   One answer is through “re-mything” culture.  Myth is, and always has been, a way for human beings to become intimate with what is ultimately vast, deep, and mysterious. Our experience changes when Place becomes "you" or "Thou" instead of "it".    We can renew our conversation, and change our paradigm, by looking back as well as forward, to a time when "nature" was about relationship with the land.  Relationship  in which cultures, individuals and religions were profoundly embedded as both story and as living metaphor.   And some places were places of special power, places of pilgrimage.

References and Notes:

1.  The Gatekeeper Trust,  “Dreaming the Land – Working with the Consciousness of Nature", Annual Conference 2018,  Pewsey, Wiltshire, UK https://gatekeeper.org.uk/2018/05/dreaming-the-land-annual-conference-2018/

2.  Dames, Michael:  The Silbury Treasure:  The Great Goddess Rediscovered, 1976, Thames and Hudson, London

3.  Dames, Michael:  The Silbury Treasure:  The Great Goddess Rediscovered, 1976, Thames and Hudson, London, Page 76

4.  Deveraux, Paul:  Earthmind: Communicating with the Living World of Gaia,Paul Devereux; John Steele; David Kubrin, 1992, Inner Traditions, Vermont 

5.  Biltclilffe, Gary and Hoare, Caroline:  The Power of Centre, 2018, Sacred Lands Publishing, Dorset, UK 

6.  Cambridge English Dictionary (2019): 

   numen ^{/ (ˈnjuːmɛn) /, noun} plural -mina (-mɪnə)             (An ancient Roman religion) a deity or spirit presiding over a place,             a guiding principle, force, or spirit

7. Wikipedia the Free Encyclopedia; “Coventina”: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coventina

8. Wikipedia the Free Encyclopedia; “The Ark of the Covenant”: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ark_of_the_Covenant

9. An Asherah pole was a sacred pole (or sometimes a tree) that was used in the worship of the Goddess Asherah. The Asherah pole was often mentioned in the Old Testament as one of the ways the Israelites sinned against their God by worshipping other gods.  The "Asherah pole" was mentioned in the Judeo/Christian Bible a number of times, including Exodus 34:13 (NIV): "Break down their altars, smash their sacred stones and cut down their Asherah poles." The Israelites were commanded to destroy any Asherah pole they found - however, it seems that the custom, as well as the worship of Asherah, was absorbed and retained nevertheless by Israelites for a considerable time.  For more:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Asherah_pole

10.   Foster, Roy F., Modern Ireland:  1600 - 1972, 1990, Penguin Books, N.Y

11.  Lovelock, James with Margulis, Lynn: 

Gaia: A New Look at Life on Earth, 1979, Oxford University Press, Oxford, England.

Hecate

So many familiar faces

I have known you all, as you have known me

Time and again, 

We meet when the Moon is hidden

And darkness is strong.

To you, so new, it seems I come from days long gone

From deep pits of forbidden spaces, almost forgotten

Yet I am always here, stirring your deep dreams

Your dreaming self knows me well, very well.

I am Hecate, Grandmother of all

Queen of the Night 

(strikes staff on floor 3x)

Queen of the dark and unborn Moon:

You will find me standing

With my lovely, fearsome, baying hounds

Where three roads meet

Speak well or not at all

And take the road I show you.

Mine is the realm of deep uncertainty

The changing before becoming

The choice of oblivion (strikes staff on floor 3x)

When the wheel of birth and death is turning

You’ll find me haunting the crank

Do not ask, just listen, and know.

It is I who hear Persephone’s underworld cries

It is I who see dim shapes of futures forming

I who bring the nightmare

And soothe the sleepless, disheveled souls.

I am your torchbearer and guide to the nether world

Where the visible meets the invisible

Where all things quicken and begin to grow

Always first in darkness.

Listen! I am speaking to you

(strikes staff on floor 3x)

From the dark side of the moon

From the hidden side of your life

From the ancient end of time

Your challenge is to know me

For only ignorance is truly dark.

by Diane Darling (2001)

The above performance excerpt is from "The Masque of the Goddess", Directed by Diane Darling and performed by members of her community in Sebastopol, California, in 2001.  Having recently finished a sculpture of Hecate,  I remembered this powerful performance and felt like posting the text.  

Reflections on Illness

I keep wishing I could post an inspiring article here, but truth be told, I've been sick.  For two months, and not much improvement yet.  With, after my doctor's tests and a visit to the ER, what they think is a mystery flu, and possibly a neck injury.  Maybe.  I can't eat.  I constantly have fever and chills.  Body aches, and a piercing headache that wakes me up without fail at 3 am every night (which I've gotten used to.  At least it's quiet, and as I wait for the aspirin and coffee to kick in, I continue to catch up on Mercedes Lacky's adventures in Valdemar.  What an imagination she has!  And I've come to feel quite fond of those Heralds and their Companions.)

Now we follow the labryinth like course of trying see what else it might be.............Listeria food poisoning infection? (it seems that those salad bars aren't always as healthy as you might think.  )  It can be confusing indeed trying to get tests for things.  Did you know that to get a blood test for Listeria you first have to be admitted to a hospital?  Catch 22.  You have to be very seriously ill before they'll test you.   I've started seeing a Chinese medicine practitioner, and am hopeful that the acupuncture treatments she gave me, and the Chinese herbs, will help.  And I'll keep pounding the pavements to see if I can get tested for things other than the endless flu, which all assure me, there is nothing they can do about.

I've been blessed in my life with a strong, Leonine constitution - this weakness and chronic pain is an experience I have not had much of, and I am amazed at two things.  I never realized before how fortunate I've been, and how much I've taken for granted. I think I've always driven my body like a truck - give it gas, give it some oil, and plow on regardless of all the ruts on the road.

The other realization is that, when you are sick and in pain, pretty much everything else goes right out the door in importance.  Your consciousness becomes focussed on finding, here and now, ways to NOT be in pain, and the body one inhabits rightfully makes its demands for loving attention.  This 70 year old body is now demanding its due on many levels, including spiritual and psychic.

Back in the end of December I had a revelation when I, literally, stumbled into a Benedictine Monestery  in an out of the way corner of the world, and found myself longing, deeply, for a contemplative life.  Shortly after that I ended my Facebook account, and reduced many of my contacts, even though this will undoubtedly impact my income.  I find I do not miss it...........I really have about 5 friends, not 500.  

I applied to a number of rural artist residencies for the summer (I recognize that most of them want 40 year olds, not 70 year olds, but what the heck.  Worth trying.)  If no one wants me, I'll still get into my car, Goddess willing, and drive East, probably ending up at my beloved Brushwood and Lilydale.  I'll do it slowly, with the attitude of a pilgrimage.  There are some wonderful parks, full of vibrant life, between here and New York.   Who knows, if my health returns, that trip may go so far as Avebury, or Glastonbury, or the Camino. 

Life is short.

Hindus believed that there were three stages of life:  Student, Householder, and Pilgrim.  You learn, you earn and pursue a career or family and contribute, and at a certain age, you leave, giving up a worldly life, and move into the life of contemplation and pilgrimage.  I understand that, now.  This is what has been calling me.

I don't know where that trail is going to take me, but unless this illness is fatal (which I assume it most certainly is not).......... after I finish my obligations that carry into May,  I AM RETIRED.  I will probably forgo AIRBNB for a few permanent tenants in my little "Enclave".  And I will have a great deal more time to write, think, and most importantly, talk to my cats and plants.  

 I am done with promoting things, with ambition,  with schedules.  I wish to find places of peace and contemplation that remove me from the the endless cacophony.............and I will do so, some of it, right here in my own back yard.  

Life is short, and a privilege.

________________________________________________________

POSTSCRIPT:

In all likelihood, what I had was Covid, before it became widely known.  I am glad I survived.

Eric Francis on American Instability

An article I felt like posting because it seems very relevant to me.

Americans Can Sure Take a Beating

 (and your February monthly horoscope by Eric Francis)

Jan. 30, 2020 

Dear Friend and Reader:

Yesterday we took a trip to Khortytsia, an island along the Dneiper,  in the Ukraine. We visited some graves that date back to 3000 BCE, long before the Cossacks. I had the feeling of being in a place where a lot has happened. It is worn and tired land that needs to be left alone for a few centuries. That is probably not happening anytime soon.

The kinds of instability Ukraine has endured the past century are outside the ability of most Americans to conceive. Yet based on its astrology, the United States is at a breaking point where the way of life we have known noticeably changes.

This is not about any infiltration from the outside. It’s about our state of mind. We simply must grow up, or be put in a series of increasingly compromised positions. It’s time to embrace the idea that things can get a lot worse, even if met by our best efforts to make them better.

Pluto Transits: The Point of Enforced Growth

The current astrological backdrop still involves Capricorn. Through February, Saturn remains in Capricorn; its first ingress into Aquarius will be March 21.

The immediate Saturn-Pluto conjunction that we’re experiencing is part of something much larger, which is the U.S. Pluto return. Pluto has a 248-year orbit, and transiting Pluto (the actual planet) is in the process of returning to its natal position at the time of the Declaration of Independence (1776) and Articles of Confederation (1777), our first constitution.

If things are going well, if one has graduated from the Saturn return and has fired one’s parents as overlords and likes going to work every day, the Pluto square is a point of leverage. If one has not taken on the role of their own inner Saturn, the Pluto square can be a kind of rolling disaster.

Most people don’t make it to their Pluto oppositions; if you live a very long time, you might. (Ram Dass was close.) Very few institutions of any kind make it to their Pluto return, but the United States is unusual in that we have maintained a continuous government for nearly one Pluto cycle. For comparison, France is currently in its Fifth Republic since its 1789 revolution; the UK reconstituted itself in 1801.

I’ve traced a few past U.S. Pluto transits in this article. They are always turning points, but the return is the return. They always present challenges and in the minds of the early practitioners of astrology, were not especially friendly. (All planetary returns were described as evil by 2nd century master Vettius Valens.)

Having Pluto in Capricorn as a natal placement makes sense for the United States. Though we have a lot of legitimate complaints about our federal system, its abuses and its genocides, electing a leader was a radical notion in that era. The framers seemed intent on avoiding a monarchy and hereditary entitlement to office. They understood the concept and reality of a tyrant, who in effect was the law, and owned the government as private property.

Separation of Powers

The defining spirit of our government is not so much “democracy” but rather separation of powers. The most cursory study of the United States Constitution (Articles 1, 2 and 3) delineates the three branches of government, which are co-equal, which have oversight power over one another, and create a system of checks and balances. That alone is our insulation against tyranny; against any one branch deciding that it is the law. Political parties can to a real degree subvert this separation, which is what we are seeing currently. The Republican-controlled Senate is trying a Republican president before a Republican chief justice. (And everything is the fault of the Democrats!)

Now, at the Pluto return, this structure, this notion of equal branches, is getting a stress test. We are seeing just how eroded it has become. We are paying the price for having neglected important separation of power provisions — such as forgetting that Congress alone has the authority to wage war, and relegating this to the Executive.

For those who understand that the American system is not perfect and has led to much exploitation, mayhem, murder and genocide, you might be especially concerned now that the few actual safeguards against this are being smashed.

The defense is arguing, essentially, that the president can do whatever he wants, because he is the president and it’s automatically right. Does this now “trickle down” to your state government, your city and county government, or the school board? Might makes right is not the rule of law. Far to the contrary.

Here in the States, we have a love affair with the cops. We are just smitten; there is a new series created every 15 minutes. Between Forensic Files, Cold Case Files, 48 Hours, The FBI Files, Miami Vice, The X-Files, Car 54, Twin Peaks, The Mod Squad, Adam-12, Dragnet, Cops, Charlie’s Angels, Hill Street Blues, Reno 911!, and various permutations of CSI and Law & Order, you would think that the American public might take interest in the law.

As in, the actual law, not some fictionalized concept. The law has a purpose, which is to present us with a set of boundaries and agreements for us to live by — and to keep powerful people from going out of control.

We understand that it’s one thing to get a speeding ticket, and we also understand that you don’t offer to bribe the cop by the side of the road. We understand that you can go to court and, if you know what you’re doing, you can get the ticket reduced or dismissed. And if you’re sick of getting tickets, you slow down.

This is not a fine point of our society. It is the essence. The law is not supposed to be made up on the spot. There are procedures, and we usually have access to them, enhanced by knowing what they are and being motivated. Often this takes money, which is a serious flaw; and there are lawyers who take cases pro bono, there are organizations, and we have the press to bring attention to issues, which sometimes works. In any event, the main requirement is not being ignorant. And that, it turns out, is a lot of work.

I understand, from decades of covering criminal, civil and administrative law in-depth, how serious the problems are. And yet they would be worse without the protections that our system makes possible.

More than a decade of Pluto in Capricorn has made a bad (but often workable) situation worse. And now we are seeing the results of that.

We Must Do Our Part

The law is not something that ultimately exists outside of us. It has to be internal, and mature people understand something of natural law. One does not refrain from stealing because it is illegal; one refrains because it’s wrong, and we understand that.

Every action of every person cannot be enforced on penalty or at the point of a gun. So the law, honoring the law, enforcing the law, and personal responsibility all play a part.

However, we have a little problem where crimes by very powerful players are concerned. What we call “white collar crime” — essentially, criminal acts by rich people or government officials — often goes unpunished and even more often, unrecognized.

We have a clue that a problem exists, though who exactly was punished for the grand rip-off described in The Big Short? That is, the economic meltdown of 2008 from which many profited wildly, and continue to do so?

On one level, it’s unsurprising that for so many people, the conduct of the president and his administration does not map as wrong. Oh, strong-arming a client state into doing what the president wants? That’s normal, right? Not as a matter of American foreign policy but to benefit his political prospects personally. It is amazing any taxpayer tolerates this. We all know it is wrong, whatever smooth talking, soft peddling and utterly boring lawyers may claim.

Then there is this idea that “he’s the president and he can do anything.” Then there is the cult of personality level. With Trump, more than most presidents, you “love” him or you hate him. But what, exactly, is the love about?

The United States has a love affair with the cops, but is this really about the law, or the exercise of authority? Because we have an even bigger lust for authority itself. This is ironic given how we claim to be a free people and to love freedom and we sing about “the free and the brave” at every sports event, from the Superbowl to Little League.

That’s the thing — freedom requires bravery. That line from a song is about something. Freedom also demands something more important — a sense of responsibility, both for yourself and for something greater. It is not enough to partake in the American Dream merely by making money (which for most these days, in reality, means surviving).

Americans Let Their Leaders Get Away With a Lot

What we are seeing today did not emerge from a vacuum. We are experiencing decades of abuses, and the gutting of basic American foundational traditions. Even if we go back to the Reagan administration, which began a project of smashing the social safety net of presidents Roosevelt and Johnson, we can learn a lot.

In that one Saturn-Pluto cycle, nearly everything has been privatized. Nearly everything is by design a capitalist enterprise, existing not for its own sake but for profit. The sales pitch here is always, “Vote for me, and you too can be rich.” The reality is more like, we will sell the Post Office / parking meters / turnpike to the highest bidder.

Over and over again. Vote for me and you can and will be rich! Vote with your wallet! And then we get endless rolling tax cuts for the extremely wealthy — which is a major factor in what we are witnessing. Most of the Senate personally benefitted from the Trump tax cuts, and for that to have happened, one had to be extremely wealthy. But still, we believe it, and it seems we support these measures both because they are deceptive and because we believe that someday we too might be that rich.

This is pure hypnosis. Notions of “a chicken in every pot and a car in every garage” are part of the long American sleepwalk into the current moment.

The Other Love Affair

Our other love affair seems to be with being lied to. If a sucker is born every minute, we also have a passion for hucksters — with the whole breed of Professors Harold Hill and profferers of snake oil that have roamed the land through our history. Yes, con artists have been around forever, but it seems only in the United States do we elevate them to the level of cultural icons and kick them $200 from our debit card at 4 am to cure heart disease.

The thing that disturbs you about Donald Trump, if anything does, is that he’s a con man. This is plainly obvious to everyone who is looking and who can see. Most New Yorkers knew this by 1990. But a lot of things get in the way of looking, or seeing, or remembering. Most of them are family issues, which are infused with the refusal to grow up.

In my observation, Americans can sure take a lot of abuse — in particular, the abuse of being lied to, over and over, no matter how much we lose, no matter how much pain this causes, no matter who gets killed. Sure! Saddam Hussein knocked down the World Trade Center! Whatever, it sounds good. He looked just like Hitler on the cover of Time.

There is a great extent to which you get what you want from life. To get something better, we have to be honest about what that is, and make some choices about what else it could be. And that is difficult to do when people have not only been beaten down, but long ago decided that something better was not possible.

And then there are all those who are “content” with what they have, or afraid of any change at all. This is a common situation that has vexed mankind for eons. Every now and then, someone fights back, and it’s a big story.

Anyway, the con artist is on trial. All of his lies are exposed. Consistent with his 30 Leo ascendant, described by the image “An Unsealed Letter,” we know it all. We know the conduct, and we have had the crime explained to us — ongoing.

Now, all we need to do is care. I mean actually care, enough to get angry and to push back and take action. That is asking a lot, when so many people are pleasantly hypnotized, or who think there will be some great reward for their complicity. But not nearly as much as we would be giving up. There is no great reward for anyone at the end of this.

The U.S. Pluto return is about taking responsibility or paying the price for not doing so. A lot is at stake. I am curious who really cares. 

Planet Waves (ISSN 1933-9135) is published each Sunday and Thursday evening in Kingston, New York, Planet Waves, Inc. Core Community membership: $197/year. Editor & Publisher: Eric F. Coppolino. Web Developer: Anatoly Ryzhenko. Astrology Editor: Amanda Painter. Associate Editor: Amy Elliott. Assistant Editor: Joshua Halinen. Client Services: Victoria Emory. Illustrator: Lanvi Nguyen. Finance: Andrew Slater. Archivist: Morgan Francis. Technical Assistants: Emily Thing, Cate Ryzhenko. Proofreading: Jessica Keet. Media Consultant: Andrew McLuhan. Music Director: Daniel Sternstein. Bass and Drums: Daniel Grimsland. Additional Music: Zeljko. Additional Research, Writing and Opinions: Yuko Katori, Cindy Tice Ragusa and Carol van Strum.

The Universe Responds

A  wonderful story from Alice Walker - I take the liberty of excerpting it here, and hope I won't be punished for publishing without permission. But it's so worth sharing.

The Universe Responds
by Alice Walker

A few years ago I wrote an essay called "Everything is a Human Being", which explores to some extent the Naive American view that all of creation is of one substance and therefore deserving of the same respect. In it I described the death of a snake that I caused, and wrote of my remorse.

That summer, "my" land in the country crawled with snakes. There was always the large resident snake, whom my mother named "Susie", crawling about in the area that marks the entrance to my studio. But there were also lots of others wherever we looked. A black-and-white king snake appeared underneath the shower stall in the garden. A striped red-and-black one, very pretty, appeared near the pond. It now revealed the little hole in the ground in which it lived by lying half in and half out of it as it basked in the sun. Garden snakes crawled up and down the roads and paths. One day leaving my house with a box of books in his arms, my companion literally tripped over one of these.

We spoke to all of these snakes in friendly voices. They went their way, we went ours. After about a two week bloom of snakes, we seemed to have our usual number: just Susie and a couple of her children.

A few years later, I wrote an essay about a horse called Blue. It was about how humans treat horses and other animals; how hard it is for us to see them as the suffering, fully conscious, enslaved beings they are. After reading this essay in public only once, this is what happened. A white horse came and settled herself on the land. (Her owner, a neighbor, soon came to move her.) The two horses on the ranch across the road began to run up to their fence whenever I passed, leaning over it and making what sounded like joyful noises. They had never done this before (I checked with the human beings I lived with to be sure of this), and after a few more times of greeting me as if I'd done something especially nice for them, they stopped. Now, when I pass they look at me with the same reserve they did before. But there is still a spark of recognition.

What to make of this?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I think I am telling you that the animals of the planet are in desperate peril, and that they are fully aware of this. No less than human beings are doing in all parts of the world, they also are seeking sanctuary. But I am also telling you that we are connected to them at least as intimately as we are connected to trees. Without plant life human beings could not breathe. They are the lungs of our planet. Plants produce oxygen. Without free animal life I believe we will lose increasingly the spiritual equivalent of oxygen. "Magic", intuition, sheer astonishment at the forms the Universe devises in which to express life - to express itself - will no longer be able to breathe in us.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

But what I'm also sharing with you is this thought: The Universe responds. What you ask of it, it gives. The military-industrial complex and its leaders and scientists have shown more faith in this reality than have those of us who do not believe in war and who want peace. They have asked the Earth for all its deadlier substances. They have been confident in their faith in hatred and war. The universe, ever responsive, the Earth, ever giving, has opened itself fully to their desires. Ironically, Black Elk (the Lakota shaman) and nuclear scientists can be viewed in much the same way: as men who prayed to the Universe for what they believed they needed and who received from it a sign reflective of their own hearts.

I remember when I used to dismiss the bumper sticker "Pray for Peace". I realize now that I did not understand it, since I also did not understand prayer; which I know now to be the active affirmation in the physical world of our inseparableness from the divine; and everything, especially the physical world, is divine.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Whatsoever you do to the least of these, you do also unto me” - and to yourself. 

"God" answers prayers. which is another way of saying, "the Universe responds".
We are indeed the world. Only if we have reason to fear what is in our own hearts need we fear for the planet. Teach yourself peace. Pass it on."

(From: "The Universe Responds: Or, How I learned We Can Have Peace on Earth",
 Living by the Word, Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, N.Y., N.Y., 1988.)

Silent Peacocks: Personal Reflections on the Need for Sacred Solitude

I am at the Holy Trinity Monastery in St. David, Arizona.  It is raining, and the only sound is the gentle fall of rain on leafless trees, droplets of water, little shining crystals on the dark branches before my window. 

And on the banister of the terrace before me are 5 peacocks and peahens, their magnificent, extravagant, impossible iridescent tails hanging over the edge.  They are just sitting there, making no sounds. I remember peacocks as noisy creatures, with a piercing cry.  How strange those peacocks are, motionless, silent.  I know that if they become aware of me, they will run off, so I join them in their silence for a moment, unmoving, aware of only peacocks, and the sound of rain. 

The Monastery is so quiet in fact, there are not even sounds of sparrows or ravens, no dogs or coyotes. It is also mostly deserted, probably because it is winter and mid-week.  The land has the familiar peace I have so often found in places of worship, a peace rising through the soil as one walks, an essence of place stepped and pressed into the land itself.  It does not matter what I "believe" in such places.... prayerful or sacred places are not about the intellect. 

 

There is a striking statue of Saint Benedict by the cloisters; he is holding a book, and there is a raven at his feet with, apparently, a rock in his beak. * I do not know what the raven means, but the white statue is welcoming.  I find myself watching my breath as I walk, clasping my hands behind my back.  Maybe the monks who lived here did that, and I am just picking up a memory in the land. 

The Benedictine Monastery in the small eastern Arizona town of St. David is actually no longer a Monastery, not since 2017 when the Vatican recalled the few monks and Father still living here.  It clearly once had a good-sized population that gradually diminished. As I walk, I try to imagine monks here, tending to the gardens, the shrines, the retreat buildings in the rain, or in the hot summers of this part of the country.   It is still managed by a faithful group of volunteer Oblates.  I notice that they are all elderly……I wonder if they will be able to attract younger people in the future to manage this special place? It seems, as I reflect with the meditative presence of the peacocks before me, that it is a great shame that the monastic life is so little appreciated in our frenetic world.    

Last evening, as the sun went down behind rows of pecan trees, I saw the flock of peacocks, some 20 of them, sitting on a fence before a particularly ancient pecan tree.  I watched as, one by one, they flew without sound into the tree, finding their particular perches.  Each bird seemed to wait patiently for his or her own “take-off”. This was clearly a daily ritual.   I was struck by how orderly this procession of the peacocks to their nightly roost took place. 

Peacocks……… one thinks of them as loud, stupid birds.  Yet at the St. David Monastery, where many generations of peacocks have lived and roamed freely, they are a tribe going about their business.  Just as the Monastery is devoted to silence and prayer, so they also seem to be.  They are wrapped in brilliant shades of quietude.  Beautiful in their other worldly iridescence among the gray and brown of winter leaves.

 

How did I end up here?  Not entirely sure.  By Grace? 

As I was driving without a destination a day ago, I vividly remembered a book I read (while spending the night on a bench in the ultimate liminal zone of Heathrow Airport) called

“The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Frye”. ** The central character, Harold, is in his 60’s, living a conservative retired life with his wife.  They do not really speak any more, as they navigate around each other with many years of habitual co-inhabitation.  One day Harold receives a letter from someone he has not seen in over 20 years, someone who is dying of cancer in a hospice far away to the north of the U.K.  She has written to let Harold know she remembers him fondly, and to say goodbye.  In his habitual numbness, but equally habitual English sense of propriety, he decides to write her a simple letter, a card that says something like “thank you for your friendship, best wishes, Harold Frye”.  He does so, and then decides to walk to the post office in order to mail it himself. 

Except when he gets to the post office, he decides to walk on to the next Post Office, one at the north of town, and mail it there.  And yet, when he gets to that post office, on the outskirts of town, he discovers that he still has the letter in his pocket, and he is still walking.  And so, the unplanned and unannounced and even unconscious pilgrimage of Harold Frye commences. 

Perhaps I am like Harold.  I just decided I needed to get away, from the Holidays, from Facebook, from cars, away from all the noise, and the noise incessantly sounding in my own head, right now:  but I had no idea of where to go. None.  

But I have a car, and a credit card.  All the way down 22^nd street to the freeway, I still couldn’t decide where I was going…. west, to Phoenix, maybe Sedona? A long way, and Sedona is expensive.  Or south, to Patagonia?  Head to New Mexico, the solace of those wide-open mystical spaces…. even though it is an even longer way than Sedona?  It was only when I got to the freeway underpass that I pulled into the left lane for route 19, heading in the direction of Patagonia, which at least had a bird sanctuary and a coffee shop.  I’d see what happened from there. 

As I drove, I felt better.  I turned my phone off.  In Patagonia I had a coffee, discovered that the only hotel (cleverly cowboy vintage)      was ridiculously expensive, then thought what the heck, I’ll head to New Mexico, why not. The mood I’m in I could drive all night anyway.   The road from Patagonia to I-10 is scenic, with a snow-covered mountain range in the distance.  In Saint David, a little town on the way to Benson, I remembered there was a Benedictine Monastery. Always curious about it, I stopped, inquired about retreats, and here I am.  Ask and ye shall receive, truly. 

Lately I’ve been having those winter-born (what a wonderful word, “winterborne”) …… “dark nights of the soul” ………. which look, practically speaking, more like being overwhelmed, brittle, snappish, and exhausted and increasingly disturbed by it. I am running a successful AIRBNB “enclave”, still working thus in the “service industry” at the age of 72. 

I have to work and know few who can afford not to these days. I am glad sometimes that no one much notices me, or my current inner landscape. To me, of late, everything sounds like “yap yap yap”.  Sometimes I feel like contemporary life is a bit like being endlessly barked at by a chihuahua.  Our modern world - an entire fleet of chihuahuas. A demanding litany of inconsequential complaint, vented commentary, monologue for the sake of attention, appeals for money, offers for deals, electronic voices, irritated drivers……exhausting. And, as I am an empath, all the human pain in there too, all the loneliness and fear and despair and grief and human pain I can’t help, and increasingly feel too frayed to listen to.  

When I’m not “in service” changing sheets or scrubbing floors, I am an artist.  (Yes, one can be an “emerged” artist and not wealthy.  In fact, most artists have to find other means of support.) The artifacts of that 50-year career surround my property.  I have to say, running an AIRBNB has been somewhat deflating, as I have noticed that most people don’t think about art unless it is in a museum or a gallery.  Or now, I suppose, on Instagram.  Instant art for an increasingly microscopic attention span! 

For myself, art is a language, albeit an often-archaic language, one that one has to be educated in, like learning to speak Latin. Certainly, it requires what our lives increasingly lack ......contemplation. Patience.  Without that introduction, and time, artworks are just a backdrop that ‘specialists’ understand, dismissed as irrelevant.  

Or a colorful passing tidbit to consume like a candy. 

People do not see that a painting is a conversation, a window into another world……in this case, my world.  For me, the works have numinous names and places in the landscape of my life.   The bodies of work on my property are the best of me, my personal shrines and devotions, and now I just want to protect them from the infidels, so to speak. 

If they don’t see it, it is safe, and those visionary depths the paintings and sculptures arose from (in me) are also underground.  Even if they are in plain sight.   

How do I feel about all of this?  I often question my discontent; I am often despairing of contemporary life.  Yet here, in a monastery where many came to seek God........it doesn’t matter whether I am “right” or “wrong” in my discontent.  It doesn’t matter what I think at all. 

I sit on a bench and listen to the melancholy voice of Saturn.  Wise and winter-borne Saturn. 

I contemplate a cast-off, brightly turquoise, feather on the ground, gleaming as it catches a bit of sun.  Here I am, enjoying this pentimento under the surface of time, given the grace and simplicity to turn under, within, below the fallen leaves, into the dark.  It occurs to me that it does not matter at all what I “think” I should do once I rejoin the noise and distractions of life.  Here is refuge, here is the power of silence.  Silence enough to listen, and my soul, for lack of a better word, is speaking. 

 

“When we are living in accord with our inner reality while simultaneously suffering the depredations of this discordant, dis-eased world, we nonetheless have supportive energy, clarifying affects, and a sense of purpose.  When we get off track, these same manifestations turn against us.  While the world rushes to pharmacology to numb the inner discord, the question remaining is simply and obviously this:  What does the soul want, as opposed to our protective but regressive complexes?  This simple question is intimidating because such an agenda can very quickly lead to the larger rather than the smaller in our lives, necessarily re-framing our sense of what our life journey is about.” 

James Hollis PhD.  “Living an Examined Life” 

As the Winter Solstice approaches, I bless the Dark, the nourishment that comes from this time of incubational dormancy, from quietude.  I am grateful to have stumbled into welcoming refuge for a few days.  To sit listening to the rain and privileged to join the silent, watchful witness of a great iridescent beauty that sits on a fence before me, waiting to be noticed, listening to the rain.  

 

Dec. 2019

*I learn later that the Raven was a friend of Saint Benedict who helped him by removing bread that had been poisoned by a jealous rival.  http://communio.stblogs.org/index.php/2011/07/saint-benedict-and-his-friend/

** The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Frye by Rachel Joyce (https://www.rachel-joyce.co.uk/)

“I love where we live. I love the stretch of sky from east to west. I work in a shepherd’s hut in a field, looking over the valley. It’s a place that feels alive with light and water and stories. My own view. My own silence.” …. Rachel Joyce

POSTSCRIPT

Shortly after I posted this article in my Blog (www.threadsofspiderwoman.blogspot.com) I found this earring by the trash can in front of my house.  It looks a great deal like a peacock feather to me!   I have no idea where it came from, but I will take it as a bit of guidance and affirmation.  The world is always speaking to us, I reflect, if we can only pause long enough to listen.

New Work: Hecate and The Memory Keeper